For All the Wrong Reasons (41 page)

“Jenkins has the car waiting for you, madam.” He handed her a small Louis Vuitton case. “Mr. Bailey took the opportunity of having your things packed up.”

Incredulously, Diana unzipped the rich-smelling leather. There were her pearls, her dress, her lingerie and her shoes, beautifully wrapped between crisp sheets of acid-free tissue paper.

“Thank you,” she said.

“If you'll step this way, madam,” he suggested, opening the elevator to the underground garage.

The journey downtown was fast, but it seemed to take forever.

The driver was blessedly silent. Relaxing against the comfortable back seat, Diana took advantage of the small silver coffeepot and cup prepared for her and watched the tall buildings of Park Avenue slip past. The noise and bustle of the city was converted to silent images in her soundproofed luxury, and she could rest her head against the tinted windows with no fear that anybody could look inside at her.

How comfortable, how easy, life as Mrs. Brad Bailey would be.

*   *   *

Jenkins let her out right in front of the office. There weren't that many limos in that part of town. The passersby rubbernecked with their Starbucks muffins and deli coffee. Diana thanked the driver and rushed into the office.

“Morning, Miss Verity.” Ellen, her assistant, looked up at her anxiously. “I left a few messages at your house. I'm sorry. I was a bit worried.”

“That's OK, I should have called in,” Diana said. She wasn't about to explain further. She fought back a blush; what she did in her private time was her business. “I'm just going to see Mr. Cicero. If you could get my call sheet ready?”

“But Miss Verity—”

Diana ignored her plaintive call and marched inside. There was Tina, sitting in front of Michael's office wearing a tight jersey dress that left nothing to the imagination. If you liked string beans, Diana thought viciously.

“Where's Michael?” she asked.

“He told me he was taking a day off,” Tina said, smiling sweetly at Diana. “He asked me to ask you to look after the business today.”

“Oh,” Diana was floored. She'd had a thousand excuses ready and now he was taking a day off? That was like the Pope taking a day off. It just didn't happen.

“Miss Verity,” Tina said, “I wonder if I could have a little chat with you?”

THIRTY-EIGHT

Felicity looked around her dinner table and smiled tightly at her guests. She gave Mort and Natty Zuckerman a little wave, nodded her head so her earrings sparkled, and smoothed down her little black Gucci dress. It was a successful do by anybody's standards. There was Lola Givens, the Met's latest black opera diva; Charles Lenten, the plastic surgeon; Amica the supermodel; and the usual gaggle of business tycoons and politicians. Monsieur Letrec, Felicity's new cook, had done an excellent job. The duck confit and orange salad was a success, as was the green tea sorbet, the vintage Krug, and the Chateau Lafite 1962.

But the atmosphere was sadly muted.

Annoyed, she looked over at Ernie. His voice was just that bit too loud, braying over the table. They had fought several times this week about his manners. Felicity was tired of smoothing over Ernie's rough edges. Despite her little Rolodex files on every one of his acquaintances, their wives, likes and dislikes, it was getting harder to cover up for his racist jokes and off-color speeches. Ernie had never been subtle, and since the troubles at Blakely's, things had become worse. She sipped her water—no wine, somebody had to be there to manage things if Ernie got drunk.

“Your ring is wonderful.”

Felicity smiled over at Elise Davenport, the latest young wife of Horace, the paper-mill king. She lifted one slim hand and flashed her diamond. Three full carats and a surrounding band of rubies. Yes, there
was
the compensating factor of Ernie's pocketbook. Despite their little spats, she was getting some wonderful toys out of this. Ernie had to spend to hold onto quality, she reminded herself.

“Thank you. Tiffany's designed it specially.”

Elise nodded. “It's so wonderful of your fiancé, especially with the way things are.”

Felicity's radar prickled. “Have you heard something, dear?”

The word was all over the street. Felicity scorned business—vulgar talk of money, she liked to say—but the wives' network was a more accurate barometer of current worth than Barron's.

Apparently Ernie was in some kind of trouble. His big-name writers were still selling, but not enough to cover the money spent on promoting them. Then there was the computer-games thing. Felicity bit her lower lip. She had so looked forward to rubbing Ernie's new venture into Diana Verity's face, but it wasn't working out that way. The staff, brought in at huge expense from Imperial, chafed under Ernie's strict working conditions. Suits, ties and signing-in didn't suit them. Their work was substandard and the code checkers had missed the bugs. Games were delayed, faulty and often boring. After the first burst of heavily advertised sales success, the book problem was repeating itself here.

Ernie had told her last night that Blakely's board was worried.

“Please, darling.” Felicity snapped. She had the impulse to reach for a cigarette. “I'm
so
uninterested in your work problems. Why don't you fix them and leave me to run the house?”

She flounced off before he could bend her ear. All Ernie had to do was keep things going just the way they were. Was that too much to ask?

Felicity was beginning to wonder just how deep the slide would go.

Anxiously she waited for Elise's reply.

“Oh, nothing.” Her guest forked a tiny radicchio leaf into her peach-glossed mouth. “And anyway, I'm sure it'll all soon be fixed.”

Felicity scowled and summoned the waitress over with a snap of her red-taloned fingers. Maybe she would take some champagne after all.

*   *   *

“Of course, Tina,” Diana said. “We can go into Mr. Cicero's office. Did he tell you where he was going, by the way?”

The younger girl pushed herself up and opened the door to Michael's office. A waft of Chanel No. 5 hit Diana. It reeked, as if Tina had taken to emptying an entire bottle over herself.

“No,” she said, shutting the door. “He didn't have that much time this morning, Diana—do you mind if I call you Diana?”

“No,” Diana said, gritting her teeth.

She did mind, she had worked hard to be made director of this company. But she didn't want Tina to think she was picking on her, because of Michael. Then Tina might get the silly idea that Diana resented her. “Go ahead,” she said.

I don't like you because you're a vacuous, skinny, itsy-bitsy bimbo, Diana thought. It's got nothing to do with Michael.

“Well—
Diana,
” Tina said sweetly, “this morning he—excuse me—uh—wanted another round, so he left the apartment a little late. He told me just to hold the fort, and ask you to take care of the firm today. He forgot about his appointment. It can happen, when two people are very much in love.”

Suddenly Diana felt a crunching pain in her temples. She thanked God that Brad had magicked up this smart little Prada suit. She thought she could hardly bear it if she had to listen to this crap and not look her best.

Imagine Michael actually missing a business appointment for sex. Tina must be special. Maybe he really was in love with her.

She felt a stab of pain in her heart and nodded briskly to conceal it. OK, I'm not dumb, Diana thought. I have feelings for Michael. I could have loved him. But his attitude made it impossible. So really, I ought to be pleased he's with someone else.

It's just that I don't approve of his choice, that's all. She tried to examine Tina objectively. She was beautiful, slender … and young and idiotic. Despite herself the annoyance with Michael bubbled up. So that's what he wanted, right? A woman who would never snap at him, never challenge him, never offer him any kind of rivalry? Michael wanted a low-rent version of the kind of wife …

The kind of wife I was to Ernie,
a nasty little voice in her head added.

Diana flinched. She looked at Tina's coltish beauty, and the thought of Michael's strong, rough hands on her made her dizzy. Did he bend Tina's slim body forward and thrust that thick, insistent cock into her the way he had done with Diana? Did he wake up in the mornings and put his hands on the sides of her head, pulling her down to him? Did he make Tina come to the office without panties, the way he had commanded Diana to do, so that she would be open and ready for him whenever he chose to take her?

Stop it.

“That's nice to hear that you two are happy,” she said. Diana took command of herself and made her tone as sincere as she could. “And what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Well, that was it.” The young girl looked a bit awkward.

“I'm sorry, I don't understand. What was it?” Diana asked coolly.

“About Michael and me. I thought—I thought maybe you—”

She looked over at Diana, who sat stoney-faced. Damn. Maybe she'd been wrong and Miss Verity didn't have the hots for Michael. Maybe she didn't care. Tina started to blush and stammer.

“Maybe you felt it wasn't right,” she said lamely.

Diana stood up. “I really don't care what Michael does outside of office hours. He's president and I'm director,” she added, with subtle emphasis. “We're friends but we don't really see each other socially. Our work lives don't leave any time.”

“Uh, OK.”

Tina stood up again, all gangly legs and bright-blue eye shadow.

“If you could bring me some coffee in my office, that would be wonderful,” Diana said.

“Are you seeing anybody?” the American girl blurted out. “Someone special, I mean?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” Diana smiled confidently. “Brad Bailey, of Bailey Realty.”

Tina's mouth rounded in awe. “Then those rumors in the papers are true? You're actually dating him?”

“I wouldn't know. I don't read the tabloids,” Diana said icily. She leveled Tina with a look.

“I'll bring you that coffee right away,” Tina muttered.

Bitch,
she thought, flouncing out. Always dressing so fancy and acting so calm. Like dating Brad Bailey was no big deal. Well, one day she would definitely get hers. Tina just hoped she was there to see it.

*   *   *

Michael arrived back in the office at five forty. It was already cold and dark out. A light flurry of snow was falling in Hell's Kitchen, covering the sandwich wrappers and discarded Coke cans before almost instantly turning into gray slush. He felt little of the chill. He had spent the day on Wall Street in warm, air-conditioned offices, juggling figures that made him think he was dreaming.

They were falling over themselves to give him financing. Even with Diana running the publishing side, the bankers adored Imperial. Their reputation and sales increased month by month. And from the start, he had kept the overhead ruthlessly low.

He found he wanted nothing so much as to sit down with Diana and talk it all through.

He marched straight to her office and found Diana handing Tina a sheaf of faxes.

“Hi, Michael,” she said.

“Hi. What are you doing? Can you drop it?”

“Nothing Tina can't handle,” she said. “Why?”

“I can do the rest of Diana's faxes,” Tina chimed in.

“Good.” He turned to her, absently. “I won't be able to make the theater tonight. We have to meet late. Oh, and Tina, it's Ms. Verity in the office, please.”

He crooked a finger and Diana meekly followed him out.

*   *   *

“You've been acting very strangely today,” she said, as he held open the cab door for her.

Michael settled on the black leather seat with the standard-issue rip in it. “East Seventeenth at Irving Place. Feel like some sushi?”

“Sounds good.” Diana smiled at him. His mood was infectious. “Would it be asking too much to want to know where you've been, boss?”

“I'll tell you everything over a bottle of sake. Maybe two.”

*   *   *

They pulled up at Yama's, a Gramercy favorite. It was early yet so they managed to skip the lines. Michael found a small table in the corner, ordered a large box with everything and two small bottles of warm, clear rice wine. He poured a thimbleful for Diana and gave it to her.

“I've been downtown.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Diana said, knocking back her drink.

“After you left yesterday I was pretty mad.” He held up one hand. “No, wait, OK? I know I owe you an apology. I acted like an idiot.” Michael forced himself to add, “I'm sure Brad Bailey's a great guy. I hope you'll be happy with him.”

“Like you are with Tina,” Diana said softly.

“Right.”

There was a moment's awkward pause.

“Anyway, I was stopped by Art Jankel. You know who he is?”

“JanCorp Entertainment?” Diana asked, leaning forward on her bench. “The conglomerate? He runs them. They do toys and games and records.”

“Right.” Michael speared a yellowtail tuna roll with his chopsticks. “He's a serious player. He asked me if it was true that we wanted financing. Then he took me off for a late-night dinner. We talked about Imperial, the profit margin, the website, the IPO … everything. Then he asks me to go have a meeting with Merrill Lynch, his investment bankers. They want to invest in us. Give us office space and funding.”

“That's what you had with Ernie.”

“I told him that. He said that he would pay the bill of any lawyer we cared to appoint. We can check and double-check. I also told him I would give JanCorp no more than a forty percent stake. He agreed to this.”

“What's our funding?” Diana asked, half-holding her breath. Around her, the room seemed to freeze.